Consorts
by rebeldivaluv
Summary: SamAinsley. PostWW. As Senator Seaborn tries to reclaim his idealism, he finds it in someone he never would have expected.
1. Part One

**Disclaimers:  I don't own them.  If I did, I would never have been foolish enough to let both Rob Lowe and Emily Procter get away.**

**Category:  Sam/Ainsley**

**Rating:  PG-13**

**Spoilers:  None really.  General references to most Ainsley episodes, but it's post-WW**

**Archive:  Anywhere you like, just email me first.**

**Author's Notes:  Don't know where this even came from, just a reluctance to let S/A go once I'd started writing for them.  Not sure how long it will end up being, or how often I'll get to update with school and stuff, but I'll do my best.**

Consorts

**Part One**

"What a bitch," I heard a voice behind me mumble.

I never had quite been able to figure out how to act immune to those words when applied to her.  I knew, of course, that the wise thing to do was simply to act like I didn't hear, to not respond to those offhand comments.  But something about Ainsley Hayes brought out my protective side and had from the moment I saw those dead flowers on her desk.  Of course, that had been eight years ago; and I had still had some professional cover for my concern for her.  Now, anything I said or did could only bring suspicion on matters that were better left alone.

But knowing this still couldn't keep me silent, as I fell into the old trap and turned around to glare daggers at my colleague.  "Do you call every woman who's smarter than you a bitch, Scott?"

The senator's mouth gaped open wide at my words, even as several people close enough to overhear began to chuckle quietly and lean in closer.  Scott Roberts finally managed to pull himself together and return my icy stare.  "You're implying that the woman down there arguing against a welfare bill you drafted yourself is more intelligent than me, Seaborn?  I'm sorry if I don't follow that logic."

"No, I'm flat out saying that a woman who can voice her opinions in a clear, concise, intelligent manner instead of resorting to personal attacks has to be more worthy of my respect, no matter which side of the debate she's on.  You don't care about this bill, you're just jealous that a blonde, Southern, Republican girl gets more respect from this institution than you do."

Scott sneered derisively.  "No need to ask where this is coming from, Sam.  Everyone knows you've always had a thing for her, even back when you were in the White House.  Mark Brookline happens to be a good friend of mine.  I know what happened.  And now you think defending her to me will get you back into her bed.  Well, can't say I blame you.  She does have a great set of legs, but it'll come back to haunt you come election time."

My fists clenched at my sides, and I wondered what C-SPAN would think if a brawl suddenly broke out on the floor of the United States Senate.  It would probably earn them their highest ratings yet.  Only a glance across the room to where she still stood making her argument, unaware of the words being spoken around her, kept me in my place.  There were better ways to protect her reputation than by picking a fight with an idiot politician who only made it here because of his family's connections and his wife's money.

"Trust me, Roberts, we will talk about this later.  Try and grow a brain before then."  That said, I turned my attention away from him, choosing to ignore his sniff of triumph.  I couldn't be distracted by the bastard any longer.  This debate was important to me.  This bill could be my ticket to reelection; but from the holes Ainsley was shooting through it, I wasn't about to start writing my inauguration speech yet.  

"While the senator's goals may have been lofty, the end result is that this bill would allow almost eighty percent of our nation's poor to remain below the poverty line throughout the course of their lives.  There's nothing in here that prepares the nation's welfare recipients for moving back into the working field.  It's a free ride at the taxpayer's expense to sit and do nothing for the rest of their lives.  Am I the only one who sees a flaw in this?"

I should have been furious with her.  I _was furious with her.  She was an arrogant, self-righteous Republican, who was more impressed by the power of her own words than by the sufferings of human beings.  She was single-handedly defeating the piece of legislation I'd spent the whole year working on.  I could see it in the faces of the senators I'd worked so long and hard to persuade.  With one speech, she swiped every veil of idealism from their eyes and made them see the bill in its strictly rational form; and she was kicking my ass._

And yet, despite all of this, I could only watch in wonder.  The woman was amazing.  She used words as weapons, but she crafted them so skillfully that none could see any harm in them.  She wove a spell around us all, drawing us in with that misleading Southern charm.  She still looked the part of a naïve schoolgirl.  Her blonde hair was shorter now, only falling to her shoulders in a sedate cut; but other than that, she might as well have been the fresh-faced young lawyer who made a fool of me on _Capitol Beat so long ago.  Her blue eyes still sparkled with that same mysterious joy, as if all of politics, her entire career, was merely one endless joke to her.  _

But the determination with which she spoke put to shame any thoughts that she might be making fun at our expense.  She had done her research.  She knew her facts.  She knew how to argue and challenge people in a way that no one else could rival…except perhaps me.  I smirked a little at the thought.  I still had my speech to give, my last word, before the bill came to a vote; and I could duel with words just as well as she could.

As she finally yielded the floor to me, her eyes rested on my face for only the barest instant.  In that moment, understanding passed between us.  This was no different than debating on _Capitol Beat for a national television audience or arguing about the ERA over Chinese food amongst a small group of White House staffers.  What it all came down to was a war of wits between her and me, and it was—and always had been—the most exhilarating part of our jobs.  _

I rose and made my way to the floor, making a final plea for the bill, for the children it could help, for the families it could save.  I was impassioned.  I was direct.  I spoke with the kind of fervor that I had always put into my speeches for President Bartlet.  I spoke words that could change hearts and minds and, most importantly, votes.  Every so often, I hazarded a glance at her and found her watching me with that misleading look of nonchalance she got on her face while other people spoke.  I knew that she might appear uninterested on the surface, but inside her mind was already working on how to counter all my arguments.  I half expected her to jump up in the middle of the room and point out all the things I had gotten wrong.

Before I knew it, my time was up; and it was time for the vote.  I barely remember breathing as senator after senator cast their vote and brought me one step closer to my fate.  

"With fifty-six votes for, and forty-two against, and two absenting, the measure passes."

I literally felt the air sucked out of my lungs.  I barely heard the congratulations of my friends and colleagues or felt their pats on the shoulder.  I couldn't believe it.  I had won.  I had beaten Ainsley.  I had _never beaten Ainsley.  At anything.  The thought seemed almost sacrilegious.  _

A sudden hush falling around me would have alerted me to her presence, even if I wasn't always acutely aware of her location in every room we both happened to be in.  She walked towards me, every step a model in that unknowing grace that made her more beautiful than humanly conceivable.  I wasn't sure what to expect until she stuck out her hand to me and said politely, in that sweet little Southern drawl that made all rational thought fly from my head, "Congratulations, Sam.  You finally won one."  A slight tip at the corner of her mouth suggested that she had known that was precisely the direction my thoughts had taken.

I shook her hand, feeling the warmth only she could give me.  "I don't know if I should feel gratified or insulted."

"A little of both," she returned, without batting an eye.  "Besides, it doesn't matter anyway.  You know President Lillienfield will veto it."  She shrugged daintily, as if almost sorry to be robbing me of my victory.  But a certain malicious spark in her eyes said that maybe she wasn't all that disturbed with sucking part of the joy out of the day for me.

It was all I could do not to grab her in the middle of the room and kiss her senseless.  Why her evil Republican nature was so irresistible to me I'll never know.   "Thanks for the reminder.  I can always count on you to keep me in my place, can't I, Senator Hayes?"

She laughed then.  All women should be taught to laugh the way she does.  Like everything else about her, it's completely free and unrestrained by anyone else's expectations of her, yet still it contains the element of a little girl's innocence.  "Only when you need it, Sam."  One flirtatious wink and a twirl of her blonde head and she was gone again.

I was once again acutely aware of the crowd of Democratic senators and aides around me, looking on in disapproval.  "Sam, Sam, Sam…" Andrea Wyatt clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

"What?" 

"What?" she mocked me.  "You're flirting with the enemy, that's what.  You do remember that's Ainsley Hayes, right?  The same woman who has spent the last four years doing everything she can to make sure that not one piece of Democratic legislation passes through Congress.  The same woman who has made it a personal mission of hers to make you look like an idiot at every given opportunity.  As much as it pains me to agree with Scott on anything, especially involving my gender, she's a bitch."

I clench my jaw to keep from screaming at an old and dear friend.  It would be safer if it was wired shut.  People have selective memories when it suits them.  Ainsley has voted in favor of many bills, regardless of whether they were Democratic or Republican supported.  Sometimes I think she doesn't serve any party but her own conscience.  Sometimes I think the world would be a much better place if we were all just a bit more like her.  

But I couldn't make Andrea or anyone else understand this.  Because no one else understood Ainsley quite the way I did.  Republicans still couldn't forgive her for working—quite loyally and happily—in the Bartlet White House.  They'd never understood her motives for doing it, and neither had most Democrats.  They didn't like her or trust her; and no matter what her record might be in Congress, she'd never fully belong to either side.  

Unable to think of a response that wouldn't end in more questions than I was willing to answer, I simply shook my head and walked away, leaving Andrea, Scott, and all the rest of them far behind me.  I should have made my way back to my office.  I knew that, of course, as I knew I'd been making bad decisions all day long.  Still I couldn't seem to stop my feet from crossing unfamiliar territory in pursuit of the office of the senator of North Carolina.

I finally found it and then silently wondered why it had taken so damn long for me to give in.  It's not like I hadn't wanted to stop by every single day since she'd been sworn in, yet something—whether pride, fear, or Democratic loyalty—had kept me away from the place I most wanted to be.  

As I stepped into her outer office, her assistant looked up at me, deep brown eyes immediately widening.  "Mi…Mister Senator…sir…" she stammered.  She obviously wasn't used to influential Democratic senators walking into her boss's office, at least not without some intention of screaming and throwing things before the end of their stay.  But she managed to recover herself.  "May I help you, Senator?"

"Is Senator Hayes in?" I asked.  I couldn't believe I was there.  I couldn't believe I was about to have my first private conversation with Ainsley since we both worked at the White House, and I would make periodic trips down to the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue just for the excuse to pick a fight with her.  Life had lost a lot of its joy since then.

"Yes, sir," the assistant squeaked out, still obviously nervous and afraid of my presence there.  "Just let me tell her you're here."  She picked up the phone with a grimace, as if she expected to bear the full brunt of Ainsley's anger over the presence of the loathsome Democrat.  "Senator Hayes, Senator Seaborn's here to see you.  What should I do?...Yes, Senator, if you say so."  If possible, her eyes were even wider as she hung up the phone and turned to face me.  "She says to go on in."

Not caring any more about what the assistant thought, I practically sprinted to Ainsley's door.  It was if I suddenly realized that she was the solution to all my disillusionment, that simply talking to her could bring back some of the fire I'd once had for our profession.  But nothing could have prepared me for what I was confronted with on the other side of that door.

Ainsley sat behind her desk, littered with papers and a couple food wrappers, her hands folded primly in front of her, perfecting the school teacher persona.  I felt sheepish and awkward as I let the door close behind me.  Before I could even think of anything to say to her, she came at me, armed for the defense as always.  "No, Sam, I didn't mean that I was personally going to make sure the President vetoed your bill.  I don't have the ear of the President; and even if I did, I wouldn't use it to get your bill sent back.  I was simply stating a fact that President Lillienfield isn't going to let that kind of Democratic welfare reform pass—probably the one area where he and I agree.  But I resent the implication that I would be petty enough to take—"

"Whoa, Ainsley, slow down!"  I held up my hands in surrender.  It had taken me this long even to process what she was talking about.  I realized she must have associated my coming to see her as being related to her parting shot about the President, a thought that had never even crossed my mind.  She sat there before me, the epitome of dignity and wronged honor, and I found myself wanting to laugh.  

This was Ainsley as she had always been.  I had a feeling that she was perhaps the only one of us who would never change, never become jaded and disillusioned like everyone else in Washington.  "God, I missed you."  The words slipped out as soon as I thought them; and as they did, I found myself blushing.  For a former speechwriter, I had to question my way with words.

Ainsley looked neither embarrassed nor moved, simply confused.  "I don't understand, Sam.  Why did you come here?  Aren't you here about the Welfare Reform Bill?"

I shook my head, finally sinking into the cushioned seat before her desk.  "No, I came…I came…I don't even know why I came.  I just wanted to see you, I guess."

The bewilderment on her face only increased, though I thought I saw a hint of pleasure in her eyes.  Wishful thinking.  "You just saw me at the vote," she pointed out.  "Sam, I really don't appreciate games.  Whatever it is you came here to say, just say it.  I don't understand what's going on."

I ran a hand back through my hair in frustration.  Of course she didn't understand.  How could I make her see when I barely had a grasp of it myself?  Instead of answering, I looked around the practical but well-furnished office, with the large glass window in back of her desk letting in streams of the spring sunshine.  "Quite a change from your old office."

Her look of confusion had melted into a frown of perplexity and perhaps a little worry.  "Sam, are you all right?  What's going on?"

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Don't you miss it?  I mean, of course _you probably don't miss it.  You were down in that godforsaken basement all day long and had to deal with all our idiotic prejudices against you.  But just…that time…that place…it was special, you know?"_

Much to my surprise, I saw her swallow back a hint of emotion.  Her eyes welled with pity for me, and her face showed perhaps some of the same nostalgia as mine.  "Yes, Sam, I know," she replied in a hushed, reverent whisper.  "I felt it too.  We did something great there.  I may not have agreed with him politically, but President Bartlet was a great man, a great statesman.  He hired me even though I disagreed with everything he stood for.  I think that's something rare in people in general, and especially here.  Everyone's so corrupt and looking out for their own best interests…"

Ainsley's voice trailed off completely as she blushed, once again aware of my presence.  "Sorry.  I probably don't have a right to talk like that.  I mean, you're right, I never was part of—"

"Stop right there," I interrupted.  "I wouldn't have come here if you weren't part of that, a part of all that we did.  That's why I came, I guess.  I wanted to feel connected to that again.  I thought maybe…somehow…seeing you could bring that idealism back."  I laughed at my own foolishness.  "But you know what they say, you can't go home again."

The crystal blue eyes of amazing depth seemed lit with fire as she gazed at me, the same fiery passion she'd had the first day on _Capitol Beat, the fire I so desperately wanted back.  "Who says, Sam?" she challenged.  "The trick is simply to fight for what you believe in, to never give up, and never compromise when you can help it.  That's what President Bartlet did, that's what we all did.  I know you still believe in that, your welfare bill is proof of that."_

It was my turn to be confused.  "But you hate that bill, you just stood up in front of the Senate and said that it was evidence of the devaluing of human independence.  You said—"

"I know what I said, Sam.  And I believe every word of it.  The point is that you don't.  You drafted that bill out of a desire to do good; and while I disagree entirely with your approach, it doesn't make you any less noble.  You're probably the only one left of us who still has that quality."

I'm sure my jaw dropped to the floor.  "Me?" I stammered incredulously.  "And here I was coming to you because I saw it in you in the debate today; and I wanted to be exposed to that again."

Ainsley shook her head and laughed.  God, how I loved that laugh.  "Sam, if I was impassioned today, it was only because I knew I would be going up against you.  Any one else I wouldn't have even cared, because to them it's not about ideals and principles, it's about constituents and lobbies and polling data.  That's not what I got into politics for, and I know you didn't either.  I knew I was actually arguing with someone who gave a damn."

A slow grin was creeping across my face.  "You know, Senator, I think we're a lot more alike than most people realize."

She smiled back at me, and I felt that familiar punch in the gut.  "I don't know about that.  I think some people have always had a pretty good idea.  At any rate, I'd rather be like you than like a lot of Republicans I know…though if that leaves this room, I'll deny it to my dying breath."

"Fair enough," I agreed.  A silence fell around us, but it wasn't uncomfortable.  I simply sat there, soaking in being near her.  I knew that I'd have to leave soon, but something inside me rebelled at the thought.  Ainsley made me feel young and free again.  I was afraid that feeling would disappear as soon as I left the sanctuary of her office.  

But the interlude couldn't last forever.  The phone rang; and from the short conversation that ensued, I deduced Ainsley was late for a meeting.  I had already stood and was making my way slowly to the exit when she hung up.  "Sorry about that," she said, with genuine regret.  Apparently, she didn't want me to leave any more than I wanted to go.

I turned around once more, and the look on her face was my undoing.  I never could resist that face.  The question sprang from my lips before I even realized what I was saying.  "Ainsley, would you like to have dinner with me?"

She bit her lip, and I could see the conflicted emotions flickering across her face.  She wanted to go, and yet she didn't.  She was flattered, yet afraid.  She was the same mixed-up bundle of emotions and intellect which made her loathed of Republicans and Democrats alike.  "I really don't think that would be a good idea," she said finally, frowning.  "People might…"

"Yeah," I said quickly, attempting—badly—to hide the feelings of rejection.  "Of course.  Really bad idea.  Consorting with the enemy and all that.  Wouldn't be a good idea to get our picture in the papers."

"Right," she said in a very unconvinced tone.  "Right."  The repetition nearly killed me.

"Well, I gotta…I should be…"  I gestured randomly behind me as I made my way to the door backwards.

My hand was on the doorknob before I heard her say it.

"Hey, Sam?  Pick me up at eight."

~~*~~

It wasn't like I didn't know it was a bad idea.  I knew it was a bad idea before the words ever left my mouth.  But some of my worst decisions had been the things that made me happiest in life.  Like working for the Bartlet White House.  And okay, I might as well just face it, I _wanted to go out with Sam.  I had always had a bit of a crush on him, although that sounds far too junior high school.  The whole situation was far too junior high school.  _

But I was not in junior high school.  I was a United States Senator, representing the interests of the people of North Carolina, and affiliated with the G.O.P.  There was no way I could go out with Sam Seaborn.  No matter how much I wanted to.  It would be unethical, quite possibly immoral, and just plain stupid.  But he looked so vulnerable, like he needed me, and the words came out of my mouth before I'd even realized it.

It was only once he was gone—leaving, by the way, with a look I used to see on his face after Bartlet nailed a speech—that the reality of the situation broke over me, and I realized there was absolutely, positively no way that Sam and I could go out on a date like normal people.  This is the point when rational people would call off the whole thing; but I never have been, strictly speaking, rational.  And I could still see that look on his face...

So I did the only thing I could do.  I found a way to get around the rules.  It was stupid, I know.  I had never in my entire life begun a relationship with the certain knowledge that it had to be a secret.  I've always hated lying and liars.  So what made me do it?  Heaven knows.  What made me take a job at a Democratic White House?  What made me argue against the ERA in front of a college full of extreme feminists?  What made me run for senator in a state that was still convinced a woman's place was in the home?

I never lived my life by other people's standards, I rationalized.  Why should I start now?  I wanted to date Sam, so damn it all, I would.  And if anyone else had a problem with it they could all go to he…It might be constructive at this point in time to mention that I hadn't had a serious relationship—or really _any relationship—in two years.  That might have affected my judgment a bit._

Then again, this was Sam.  I probably would have done the same thing no matter what my love life at the time had been.  He was the one guy I had never quite been able to get out of my head, which was strange considering we had never done anything other than argue and flirt and even that was several years before he suddenly swooped back into my life.  Well, "swooped" wasn't exactly the right word, more like sheepishly shuffled.

All of which is completely irrelevant.  Controlling the direction of my thoughts has never been easy for me.  It's a nervous condition.  But I wasn't nervous that day.  That day I was surprisingly calm.  I was breaking every ethical boundary I had ever set for myself, and I could not have cared less.  It wasn't like the system cared about us.  We were just two more people lost in the storm of bureaucracy and fighting like hell to stay afloat.  To put it simply, Sam was my lifeline; and I was his.  Thoughts of consequences didn't really matter compared to that.

With complete awareness of where I was heading, I made all the arrangements I knew Sam would never think to make.  He couldn't think like that, and I wouldn't want him to.  He wouldn't be the Sam I knew if he did.  The most wonderful thing about Sam Seaborn always was his idealism.  He never saw the world quite the way it was; and in a bizarre way, I felt the need to shelter him from it.  

I was the one to call him on a private, secure line and tell him not to come pick me up after all.  Instead, I gave him an address.  Not for a restaurant, but for the apartment of a friend of mine—a friend who would be conveniently out of town.  Truth be told, she was the only friend I would have trusted to help me out, since she was in no way connected with politics of any sort, God bless her.  

The sensible portion of my mind—which sounded frighteningly like my father—told me that I was committing gross national fraud and there was no way I wasn't going to get caught.  But I barely acknowledged it.  The other part of me said it would be better to order in Chinese than Italian for a first date.  Which when you think about it is rather sensible in itself.  

So without a thought for consequences or politics or all the forces that had dominated my life so far, I was waiting by the door when Sam showed up precisely at eight o'clock that night.  Chinese takeout waited for us on my friend's table.  And the adorably awkward smile on Sam's face as he came in made every anxiety or problem seem worth it.

With full knowledge of the Pandora's Box I was opening, I, Ainsley Hayes, lifelong Republican and Senator of North Carolina, opened the door of my heart to the enemy that night.  I never looked back.


	2. Part Two

Consorts

**Part Two**

Thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds.  That's how long it took for Ainsley and me to start fighting.  I know.  I timed it.  And as long as I've admitted so much, I might as well confess that I started the fight too.  I like to fight with her.  Is that a crime?  Nothing has ever fascinated me quite so much as how her oft times misguided, delusional, but never uninformed, mind works.  

Still, I probably should have waited until she was through eating.  Only a complete fool such as myself would antagonize Senator Ainsley Hayes on an empty stomach, if the tongue-lashing I received was any indication.

"The right to prayer in schools is essential to first amendment rights, Sam.  I'm not talking about teacher-led prayer here.  I'm talking about the student's right to exercise their religion in the school setting.  And don't you dare tell me I mean only for Christian children, because I don't.  Christian, Jewish, Muslim.  One of the fundamental problems with the school system today is that they want to take away all kinds of faith and moral standards from our children and replace it with state-run propaganda.  Is it any wonder teen suicide is at an all-time high?  We refuse to allow our kids to believe in anything anymore.  We give them condoms and tell them not to drink and drive and call it progress."

Have I mentioned how absolutely bewitching she is when she's angry?  Her pale cheeks start glowing with a kind of suppressed fire, and there is nothing suppressed about the passion in her eyes.  Not to mention the fact that she could outwit any politician I ever met, without once having to lie.  Oh, right. I'm supposed to be arguing back at her.  I could tell, because she was looking at me in a kind of vexed frustration.  It's no fun winning an argument without a fight.

"You talk about the first amendment, Ainsley; but you overlooked the other part of it which says that church and state shall be separate—"

"It doesn't say that, Sam."  

She cut me off before I even got my momentum going!  I think that's not quite fair.  If you're going to have a debate, you should at least play by the rules.  Not to mention, she was completely wrong.  I pushed my glasses up in order to look down on her with the fury she deserved.  "Of course it does.  Ainsley, you did take Constitutional law at Harvard, didn't you?  I'm almost positive it's a required course."

"As a matter of fact, I aced that course," she boasted.  She has to be the only woman alive who can look sexy while bragging in the most infuriating manner.  "But apparently, at Princeton they don't believe you actually have to read the Constitution in order to pass, because nowhere in the first amendment—or anywhere else in the Constitution, for that matter—is the separation of church and state mentioned.  It's one of the great frauds of our society that people believe it's in there.  The first amendment says, and I quote, '_Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.'"_

I don't know whether to be more amused or astonished.  "You know that right off the top of your head?"

She gives me that look I hate that tells me I'm the slowest child in the classroom or I'd have grasped this concept long ago.  "I'm a Republican lawyer turned politician, Sam.  Of course I know it.  I could quote you every single amendment to the Constitution, and still, not once, would you find your precious 'separation of church and state.'"

"Where does it come from then?" I ask, honestly intrigued now, though I'm trying hard to appear indifferent.  But seriously, when you suddenly discover that one of the concepts all your theories on politics are based on isn't even true, how do you act uninterested?

"It's from a letter that Thomas Jefferson wrote to a Baptist church," Ainsley stated confidently.  "You can look it up if you want.  But the letter was written in an entirely different context than what it has been applied to today—and at any rate, I don't think letters written by politicians to constituents carry any legal weight constitutionally speaking."

There was a light of triumph in her eyes again.  Damn it.  This time she seriously had won.  She knew it.  I knew it.  Ainsley didn't even wait for me to concede defeat before diving back into her Kung Pau chicken.  Somewhat cowed, I joined her.  I wanted to think of another point to argue that one; or at least, to find some justification for what I believed, but it was the ERA all over again.  I didn't have a leg to stand on, so I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

She should not have looked so damn irresistible in her jeans and over-sized sweatshirt sitting on that couch, one leg swinging indolently, the other tucked beneath her small frame and munching on her takeout with obvious relish.  I'd never known another woman who was so totally at home in her own skin, so confident in her own abilities.  She never had to question anything about herself, because she had a base of logic for everything she believed and did.  

So why was she sitting here with me?

She looked up then, finding me staring at her, and the blush rose to her cheeks.  "What?" she asked self-consciously.

I shook my head, unsure even where to begin.  "Nothing."  I looked around absently at her friend's apartment, staring out the window with the view of the Lincoln Memorial.  "Nice place."

"Yeah," Ainsley agreed, her expression immediately becoming veiled.  She looked tense.  She knew what I was about to bring up, and she looked every bit as reluctant to discuss it as I was.

But it had to be said.  "Why here?"

She immediately assumed a more formal position, legs at her side, hands clasped primly in her lap.  I knew she felt more in control that way, which was crazy considering that this situation couldn't be any less professional; but I couldn't begrudge her that right to confront this on her own terms.  "You know as well as I do, Sam.  It's not good for your career to be seen with me."

Yes, I knew it; but I didn't want to believe it; and I didn't want her to think it.  "Who the hell cares, Ainsley?  It's just a dinner between two old friends."

"That's not all it is," Ainsley maintained, refusing to give me any place to hide.  "And that's definitely not how the press would portray it.  Look, Sam, for me it doesn't matter.  I've weathered a lot of worse stuff since I came to Washington.  But there is no way you can get away with dating a Republican, not with the election coming up."

"The election is not for another two years, Ainsley," I point out with more than a trace of disbelief.  There's more to this than keeping me safe from scandal.  She probably didn't want her Republican daddy to find out about it.

Her blue eyes stare intently into me as she replies, "But you'll have to declare your candidacy soon if you're going to stand a chance at winning the nomination."

My jaw nearly drops to the floor.  Ainsley certainly wasn't the first person to suggest to me that I should run for President, but she didn't seem to be suggesting it.  She took it as a given that I would.  "I'm not running, Ainsley.  There's no way."

"Why not?" she challenged.  "You would rather have another four years of Lillienfield?  Because I guarantee you, Sam, there's not another Democrat capable of beating him."

Ignoring all the political implications of what she said, I immediately focused on the personal undertone.  "You sound like you want me to.  Isn't that like heresy?"

Ainsley graced me with a withering stare.  "You, of all people, should know by now that I don't decide anything based on the party line.  But if you're asking me if I would rather see you in the White House than Lillienfield, the answer is absolutely."  My shock must register on my face, for she sighs in exasperated resignation.  "Sam, I've told you before, I may not agree with most of the things you believe in; but I do believe that more than anything you want what's best for this country.  I want that too, and I don't think Lillienfield cares about anything besides how dignified he looks giving the State of the Union address."

"Yeah, but he supports gun owners rights and prayer in schools—"

"President Lillienfield supports whatever his advisers and pollsters tell him to support," Ainsley retorted viciously.  "I would think you'd be happy to learn I'm repenting of my evil Republican ways—"

"Are you repenting of your evil Republican ways?"

"No," she returned nonchalantly, only the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth.  "And if you don't run, I suppose I'll be forced to vote for him again.  Hoynes will get the nomination, and he's no better than Lillienfield with the added detriment of being a Democrat."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" I questioned, trying to draw her out.  It's not like the idea hadn't occurred to me before; but I had always put it off, reminding myself that I was too young to think of the White House.  "You think I should run?"

"I think I've made that pretty clear, Sam.  But that's not really the issue.  You are going to run.  There's no doubt in mind about that.  The only question is whether or not you are going to win, and my prediction is you will…as long as you are not involved in yet another sex scandal."

I wince at her pointed reminder of the Laurie incident.  "That was almost ten years ago, for God's sake.  Aren't people ever going to forget about it?"

She laughed derisively.  "In Washington?  You've got to be kidding me.  No, Sam, they won't.  But it can be easily brushed aside in today's society considering you've kept your nose clean ever since.  Just don't give them anything new to write about."

"And that's where this comes in."  I gesture broadly around me at the apartment.

She nods once in the affirmative, before eyeing me with a sort of sad speculation.  "Of course, if I was truly and completely motivated only by a desire to protect you, I would have said no the second you asked me out; and I never would have brought you here."

My mouth feels suddenly dry and my throat is choked.  Relating to women has never been my strong suit.  Relating to Ainsley is damn near impossible sometimes.  "So why did you?  Say yes, I mean…and bring me here."

She bit her lip, and the sudden mental image of her dancing to the Bassa Nova in a bathrobe flashed before my mind.  I don't think even Ainsley knows what makes her do half the things she does.  She can't blame them all on pink squirrels.  Finally, she shrugged; and the moment passed.  She is once again the totally in control woman who I'm sure knows all the answers to everything in my life.  "You looked like you needed me," she said quietly.

Without even thinking about it, I reached out a hand and stroked the smooth, satiny surface of her cheek.  "I did."  Her eyes closed, but she didn't pull away.  Rather her hand covered mine and she leaned further into my touch.  "I do need you."

Her eyes fluttered open as she slipped ever closer into my arms.  "I know."  The gentle whisper in the soft Southern accent was the last thing I heard before I gave into the urge I'd been fighting for eight years and kissed the lips of my fiercest opponent.

~~*~~

I liked watching him sleep.  All the stress and tension that weighed on him on a daily basis disappeared when he slept; and I knew what it was that drew me to him, that little lost boy came shining through when he slept beside me.  A few hours before he had been a man, sweeping me away in a haze of passion and desire; and I had wanted him.  But now he was a boy, curled against me, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm against my palm; and I loved him.

I had told him that I thought he needed me.  I had given that as my excuse for accepting his invitation.  But that was such a small part of the things at work inside of me.  He had seen so much of this world—both the good and the bad—and he would see far more before long.  I wanted to give him a place of safety, of comfort, of rest.  I wanted to give him all myself.

I wasn't about to tell him that of course.  I would never make myself so vulnerable.  Especially since I knew he didn't love me.  Oh, he thought he did; or at least, he recognized that he had feelings for me.  But those feelings weren't love.  He needed someone to protect him, to take the pain away, to believe in him.  I could be all that for him.  I _would be all that for him, and I didn't care what that meant for me or my career._

There was something about Sam Seaborn.  I knew I wasn't the first person to recognize it, but perhaps I was the first person who knew how to deal with him.  I would never cave in an argument, because that would be a sign either of weakness or lack of intelligence.  He'd lose respect for me; and with lost respect, there would go all of his affection for me.

Sam only understood things in terms of the straightforward, though.  He never would pick up on the other ways that I gave in to him, because they were things he took for granted.  And I didn't care what I had to give up.  He was worth it.  I didn't need to be a lifelong senator.  I didn't need to be a Supreme Court justice or the President myself.  I had wanted those things for as long as I could remember; but watching him sleep, all of those plans and aspirations fled.  

What I wanted more than anything else in the world was for Sam to be the man I knew he could be.  He could be the greatest President since Abraham Lincoln, but he would need people to support and guide him in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine.  I knew my part.  It was a part that would receive neither glory nor recognition.  Indeed, if anyone found out about me, then I would have failed.  I wouldn't have been what he needed of me.

And what would I be?  Well, mistress seems to be the term most often used in America today; but I hate that word.  It does not begin to describe what I was to Sam.  I prefer the language of the court of Versailles.  I would be his consort.  His confidante, his solace, his friend.  

In a lifetime plagued by inexplicable—some would say irrational—decisions, this would prove to be my craziest one yet.  But I didn't think of that as I slipped out of the warm bed by Sam's side and tracked down my scattered clothes.  I didn't think of what my father would think of me, or what the American public would think of me if the knowledge of our affair ever leaked out.  

I thought only of the man who needed me so desperately and who I loved with the whole of my heart.    


	3. Part Three

[**A/N:  I'm sorry.  I know it's been forever since I updated, and I thank everyone who encouraged me to continue.  Frankly, with both characters gone, I haven't been truly inspired in a while, and I was occupied with other activities anyway.  But tonight, I was bored or inspired—take your pick—so I decided to finish this chapter, which has been lying around on my computer half-written for months.  I'm not very pleased with it, and it's obvious I wrote it in two separate parts, but oh well, 'tis done…]**

Consorts

**Part Three**

"I'm not saying there aren't problems with the system, Sam; but that doesn't mean you can totally throw it out.  It does serve a purpose you know."

"The purpose of government sanctioned murder, you mean," I returned scathingly.  At that moment, it was incomprehensible to me how Ainsley could still be sitting across from me with that innocent face of hers.  Shouldn't she have sprouted horns or something?  Three hours after a man with an IQ of 63 was executed, my girlfriend was arguing in favor of the death penalty.

Ainsley sighed, picking up our plates and taking them to the kitchen sink, before returning to my side.  I struggled to hold onto my anger as she placed herself in my lap and buried her hands in my hair.  You try it sometime.  Within mere moments, I had wrapped her tightly to me, never wanting to let go.

"It was a horrible thing that happened today, Sam," she said softly, in a voice laced with actual pain.  Pain similar to what I was feeling at such a blatant miscarriage of justice.  "I know you think I don't care, but I do.  That execution should never have happened."  
  


"No execution should ever happen," I maintained fervently.  "I don't care what the circumstances are.  When we take the lives of our own citizens, we become the bad guys ourselves."

"That's not true, Sam, and you know it.  You're speaking emotionally right now.  Deep down, you know that there are some cases where the death penalty is called for.  The Oklahoma City bombing.  9/11.  Do you honestly believe the state doesn't have the right to execute the people responsible for those?"

"You're talking about a very few cases, terrorist actions committed on U.S. soil.  Most of the people we execute aren't terrorists.  They're not even necessarily the criminals with the worst records or who commit the worst crimes.  Hell, a lot of the time they aren't even guilty.  The system's not about guilt or innocence anymore, Ainsley.  It's about how good your lawyer is and how much money you can pay."

"Then, change it."

Her loaded statements like that were more infuriating than anything else about that woman.  If she'd stick to fighting with me on the issues, I might have a better chance of winning an argument one day.  Yet every time she began to lose, she switched tactics, instead focusing the discussion around me, my political career, what I can do.  I didn't understand her.

"Ainsley, we've been over this before—"

"Yes, and you're still vacillating, Sam.  If there are problems in this country you want fixed, then you have to fix them.  That's why we go to work every day, and do our jobs, and do them well.  We're trying to make a difference.  We have a responsibility to the American public to do our best for them."

"And like you said, I'm doing that," I argued, even though I knew exactly what she was talking about.  It had been a reoccurring theme over the course of our month-long relationship.  "Can't we leave it at that?"

She slipped out of my lap to sit on the couch next to me, her legs still draped across mine, as she stared at me with that demanding look only Ainsley could perfect.  "Run for President, Sam."

"Why is this so damn important to you?"  Irritated, I pushed her legs off me and rose to stand before her.  "What could it possibly mean to you for me to run?"

Ainsley stood immediately, matching me gesture for gesture, refusing to be intimidated.  "It would mean a President who actually cared about this country.  It would mean having someone in the Oval Office who wouldn't be spending every waking moment trying to figure out how _not to make a fool of himself that day; someone who was capable of having an original idea every once in a while; someone who would instigate change and not merely be satisfied with the status quo.  That's what it would mean to me, Sam."_

I didn't want to smile at her.  I didn't want to feel proud to have her standing there building up my ego with her idealistic hopes for me.  But as was so often the case with Ainsley, I didn't really have a choice.  "Even if it meant I outlawed the death penalty?" 

She smiled back at me.  "That's what we have Congress for, Sam.  You're not allowed to unilaterally outlaw things.  Balance of powers is a wonderful thing.  We should all thank the Founding Fathers for thinking of it."

"So that really is in the Constitution?" I quipped, pulling her body close to mine.  It was hard to keep solely focused on politics when she looked so charmingly self-satisfied.  "Not another of those frauds perpetuated on the American public?"

"No, it's really and truly there.  Right along with the Fourteenth Amendment."  

"For God's sake, aren't you ever going to let that one drop?" I groaned.  "One conversation about the ERA is going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

"It was a memorable conversation, Sam," Ainsley remarked innocently, wrapping her arms around my neck.  "Every argument that I win with you is memorable."

"Memorable meaning you're never going to let me forget them," I translated.

"Well, if you want to be literal about it…"

"Ainsley?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So I did.

~~*~~

"Ainsley!"  Sam's voice practically reverberated off the apartment walls.  

I cringed but studiously ignored him, instead occupying myself entirely with rummaging through the cupboards of my friend's apartment for something to munch on while I waited for the pizza to arrive.  

"Ainsley, I know you're here.  How could you?"  I heard him swear under his breath.

I finally found a bag of pretzels and lifted myself onto the countertop, still refusing to dignify Sam's ranting from the foyer.  The crunch of the pretzels drew him to the kitchen, and his face when he looked at me was a far cry from his normal sheepish grin.  

"You voted against the assault weapon ban!"  How I hated the look in his eyes that night!  He looked at me as though I was a stranger to him, some enchantress who had bewitched him, and the spell had finally fallen from his eyes.

I forced myself to swallow, though I suddenly wasn't hungry—for one of the first times in my life.  "I thought we agreed we weren't going to discuss our votes with each other," I began, as a weak attempt to divert the subject and subdue his wrath.

An impossible task.  "That's before our votes, Ainsley.  This is a matter of public record now.  You voted against extending the ban to include over a dozen new semi-automatic weapons—including the kind that shot Josh."

"I know what the law was about, Sam," I retorted, my self-defensive anger rising…mostly because I knew his anger was entirely justified.  I was feeling quite a bit of it myself.  "I also know that the Second Amendment of the Constitution states—"

"Don't you dare pull that crap with me again, Ainsley!"  Sam's lips were pulled into one thin, hard line; his eyes were dark and angry; his face seemed pinched.  "I can bear that sanctimonious bull from almost everyone but you.  When the Second Amendment was written, they had muskets.  We're talking now about guns that can kill a dozen people without being reloaded.  How can you stand here and defend that?"

I couldn't.  He knew I couldn't.  He saw it in the way I kept my eyes averted.  Approaching the countertop, he put an arm on either side of me, effectively trapping me until I answered his questions.  "Why, Ainsley?  Tell me why."

"Because, unpleasant or not, there are some times when we have to play politics," I admitted finally.  I didn't want to admit it.  I didn't want to see myself fallen in his eyes.  He had a kind of idealized picture of myself in his mind.  He saw me as being above all the normal considerations that every politician faced everyday.  And though I knew it wasn't right, I wanted to stay stainless before him.  Only now I couldn't any longer.  

As I foresaw, Sam pulled away from me immediately, repulsed.  "What did they promise you for your vote?"

He didn't ask who "they" were.  He didn't need to.  They were the Republican Party, in his eyes, Satan's government on earth.  I groaned, pushing his arms down and jumping off the counter.  I wanted to face him on my own footing if I had to do this.  "You know I can't tell you that, Sam."

The normally good-natured face was deformed with a sneer.  I saw myself diminishing in his sight by the moment, and I turned away, unable to bear it.  "You were the deciding vote, you know that, Ainsley?  If you had voted your conscience, the measure would have passed."

I choked back the tears threatening to spill over.  I refused to let him see me weak.  No one ever saw me cry.  "Yeah, well, we can't all vote our conscience all the time, Sam.  Even if I hadn't been offered something, I would probably have voted against the bill anyway.  When I step onto the Senate floor, I don't represent my own beliefs.  I represent the people of North Carolina.  Do you know how a lot of the constituents back home feel about gun control laws?"

"God forbid the people of North Carolina should be forced to shoot people one at a time," he shot back bitterly.

Unable to bear his righteous indignation any longer, I silently left the kitchen, prepared to walk out the door and out of Sam's life.  I had been a fool to think it could work in the first place.  But my pride refused to let me, and I abruptly turned around to make my last defense.  I saw the way he was looking at me, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and shattered illusions.  I had to clear myself, come what may.

"I don't blame you for being disappointed in me, Sam.  I'm not exactly proud of myself at this moment.  But before you go writing me off as just another corrupt politician, could you look beyond this one vote?  This week alone, I've voted in favor of stopping oil drilling throughout the United States, and for the exploration of alternate energy sources.  I voted against the Family Protection Act—although there were things in it I agreed with—simply because I do not feel it is the government's job to legislate morality.  I voted for campaign finance reform and the health care bill.  All of which I did because I believed it was right.  But I can't fight every battle.  Can you look me in the eyes and honestly tell me I have lost my integrity over one vote?"

His anger held out for only a moment longer, then his shoulders slumped, and I saw the defeat that had truly been driving his fury.  In a moment, I had wrapped him in my arms, and he buried his face in my neck, holding onto me like his last lifeline.  "Oh, darling," I soothed him as well as I could.  "I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  Forgive me."

He didn't answer, but he pulled me tighter.  Yet as surely as I knew all was forgiven, I realized I would never be the same to him.  I had fallen from my pedestal.  Nothing could ever restore me to that place in his life.  My knowledge of my failure tore at my heart, for I was convinced this would be the end for us.  Oh, Sam would try to make it work.  He didn't have it in him to be cruel, and he would be reluctant to believe he had been deceived.  But in the end, he would accept who I really was.  Tight as he held me at that moment, it would be only a short while until he let me go.

~~*~~

She'd been different since that night.  She was pulling away from me.  I could feel it.  She thought I didn't see, but I did.  Despite what Ainsley thought, I knew her almost as well as she knew me.  I knew she despised weakness in herself above all things.  So she would try to push me away because I was a reminder of her weakness.  It wasn't me she was really angry with.  I knew that.  She was angry at herself for succumbing to the pressure, for proving fallible.  She thought I would see her in the same way.  If she only knew how that night had changed my opinion of her…

Up until then, I admit I had practically worshipped her.  She was to me the ideal all women—no, all people—should strive to become.  She seemed to me made from a different mold than all of us poor mortals surrounding her.  But perhaps my idolization of her had hampered my true knowledge and love of her.

Yes, I say love.  For, as she was quietly trying to pull away from me, I was becoming ever surer that the feelings I harbored for Ainsley Hayes went far beyond a passing attraction.  When I had perceived her as perfect, it was beyond my reach to love her.  Now I saw her more as she was, a woman tormented by the same challenges the rest of us faced everyday.  For all her seeming confidence, she was as doubtful and weak as the rest of us.  And I loved her for it.  

I'm not sure I'd ever loved a woman before.  Perhaps Lisa, but the deeper I fell for Ainsley, the more I realized how pale an imitation of love I had been settling for with her.  Something about the blonde Republican suited me.  Even the way she pushed me away because of her own guilt was strangely reminiscent of myself.  I began to realize how very much we echoed each other.  Not in politics, but in character; in everything that really mattered, we were symmetrical so to speak.  

Her dreams for me, which had once appeared grand and impossible, now felt like possibilities…if not realities.  I knew I could accomplish anything with her by my side, and I was acutely aware that was why she stayed.  She was terrified of being rejected; she was filled with self-recrimination of her own humanity, when she had striven for so long to be irreproachable.  Yet she stayed.  For me.  

And so it was, to prove myself worthy of the faith and trust of this woman, I, Samuel Norman Seaborn, decided to run for President of the United States of America.


End file.
